


Through Worlds

by tree



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hellenistic Religion & Lore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character study through porn, Cunnilingus, Dancing, Extended Metaphors, F/M, Gentle Sex, Held Down, Married Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Musical References, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Female Character, Symbolism, War, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree/pseuds/tree
Summary: In the middle of war, what had made them think they'd be allowed something so foolish and mortal as love? (Or, Orpheus and Eurydice on their wedding day.)





	Through Worlds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/gifts).



> I've followed Virgil's account of the myth, which features Aristaeus pursuing Eurydice, who is subsequently bitten by a viper. All names have been taken from mythological and historical figures and/or places (and I may have had a little too much fun with it).

  

> Even if I now saw you  
>  Only once,  
>  I would long for you  
>  Through worlds,  
>  Worlds.
> 
> _Izumi Shikibu_

  

  

"Orpheus, I have twelve enemy contacts. Repeat, twelve Vipers incoming."

"Copy that, Eurydice. I've got them now. Ganymede, this is Orpheus. We have incoming." 

"IRIS contacts confirmed, Orpheus. Battle wing is launching. ETA two minutes."

"Roger that, Ganymede. Eurydice, hold your position. We'll meet you there."

"Copy that."

"Hyper, Lips, Skydive, this is what you've trained for. Remember, stay with your wingman and no heroics. We get in, get out, and get everybody home."

"Roger that, Orpheus." 

Three voices like a chorus, as in the tragedies of old.

  

≼

  

The hour before ship's dawn found Cyrene making her way through the empty early-morning corridors to what was generously referred to as the temple. It was deep amidships, a windowless room, because the gods had other means by which to see the stars.

Like all Anemoi class vessels, Ganymede was served by a priestess. She led the faithful in prayer, offered them counsel and comfort, and solemnised the journeys of the dead to the underworld. A stellar battleship in wartime had no need for any other sacred rites of passage.

Today would be an exception.

With her skin prickling in excitement and butterflies marauding in her stomach, Cyrene leapt from the fifth step of the final staircase in a burst of nervous energy. It was far from her most graceful landing: her booted feet hit the deck with a clang that echoed against metal and momentum tipped her sideways into the handrail, which jabbed her hard beneath the ribs. She had the fleeting thought that Ly would probably never forgive her if she managed to break something today of all days.

They were getting _married._

"O Hymen, king of marriage," she murmured softly, "blest is the bridegroom. Blest am I also, a woman soon to wed."

Running one hand through her choppy, still-wet hair, she thanked the gods there was no one around to see her — Eurydice, the stellar fleet's best and most badass pilot (no matter what Lyceus liked to claim) — wearing the goofy, lovestruck smile she could feel on her face right now. For a moment she let herself wish for a garland to place on her head, for something nicer than her BDUs to wear, for the simple luxury of a hair-dryer; then she tucked them away with all the other useless wishes less important than survival and, swift on its heels, peace.

The temple was dim when she opened the hatch, lit only by the candles burning along each wall. Their gleam lent a numinous quality to the painted murals of the gods, whose figures seemed to undulate into and out of some hidden realm. Lyceus was already inside, speaking quietly with the priestess, and Cyrene had a moment of affectionate amusement at his expense. _The universe would probably implode if the great Orpheus was ever late._

Then he turned as she stepped through the hatch, looking expectant, and the blinding smile that broke over his face rooted her in place. He seemed to blaze brighter than the flames around him, all elegance and grace, and beautiful as any god. Orpheus, son of a king. No callsign could be more apt for the golden-throated hero of the stellar fleet.

Not for the first time, Cyrene wondered what in Hades he was doing with a girl from the slums of Dodona, who wore grease stains and bruises the way other women wore jewels. How could he possibly believe this thing between them would really work? And how had he made her believe it, too?

"I was starting to worry you were backing out on me, Lieutenant," he said as he walked toward her. "Thought I might have to hunt you down and drag you here by force."

She snorted indelicately, striving for equilibrium. "What, and order me to marry you, Captain? Just how were you planning on enforcing that?"

"I'm sure I'd think of something."

Ly's tone was dry and his mouth tilted up in a smirk but his eyes, _oh,_ his eyes were shining with love and hope and everything they weren't supposed to feel for each other. It was a look that filled her with awe and giddy terror. She felt as though she was being shot out of a launch tube at twice the usual velocity, as though someone had tampered with the oxygen mix and the air was too thin to breathe.

Her throat closed up for a moment and she licked her lip nervously. "Just wanted to give you one last chance to reconsider this insanity," she said with affected nonchalance.

He took her hand in his. "This is the most sane thing I have ever done, Cyrene."

"Ly," she said helplessly, her insides a waterfall of flickering hope and doubt.

From behind him came the melodious voice of the priestess. "Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes," he said with quiet conviction. 

In that single word Cyrene heard _Trust me_ and _I'm sure_ and even an impish _I dare you_ , which was how he'd gotten her here in the first place. She never had been able to resist his dares.

A rueful smile kicked up one side of her mouth and she shook her head. It meant _You're probably going to regret this_ and _Just remember who tried to be the voice of reason when you do._ With a thundering heart, she sent up a swift, silent prayer. _O Aphrodite, please don't let him regret it._

Aloud, she said, "Yes."

Ly's smile was soft and his kiss was gentle but his grip was unyielding as he led her to the altar, to the priestess, to this wonderful, terrifyingly reckless act they were about to commit.

If the priestess had been surprised at their request to be married in secret, to be married at all, she gave no sign of it now. Though they had no tokens to exchange and no family or friends to stand witness, they recited their vows to each other in the sight of the gods. They bound themselves to one another and received the priestess' blessing on their union. 

In an instant, in an eternity, they were married.

When the last word had faded, the temple was silent save for the sounds of their breathing. Cyrene felt as if she was waking from a dream. The steady weight of joy settled within her and she didn't think she'd be able to stop smiling even with an Aristaean gun aimed at her head. 

The watch change bells rang.

Ly was gazing at her as though she was Aphrodite herself. "I never want to leave this room."

With a roll of her eyes, she gave him a shove toward the hatch. "Don't get all clingy on me now, Orpheus, or I might start to regret this little escapade."

He reeled her in by the hand he still held and kissed her with a gentle ferocity. Their twined knuckles turned white from the strength of their shared grip until it felt like the only thing keeping her standing. Ly broke the kiss and rested his brow against hers for a long moment.

"You should go," she told him in a whisper.

"I know." His sigh brushed across her lips before he sealed them with another swift kiss. "I love you," he said, then released her hand to turn away and walk out into the harsh, artificial light of duty.

All through breakfast and the morning briefing, Cyrene kept waiting for someone to notice a difference. Surely the universe had shifted so profoundly that everyone else could feel it? Yet life proceeded in such an ordinary way that it felt utterly surreal to her. Wasn't Ganymede's gravity slightly off-kilter? Wasn't time stretching out and snapping back unevenly? A minute felt like an eon, then five went by when she blinked.

She barely heard the briefing, wondered how Lyceus could stand up there so calmly and deliver it as though this were any other day. 

"Dismissed," he said at last.

Rows of pilots began to exit the briefing room, their boots clomping, their flight suits squeaking and shuffling. Conversations started up or continued in brief snatches of sound. Belatedly Cyrene pushed to her feet, trying not to glance at Ly or look too obviously like she was waiting.

He cleared his throat and spoke as though the thought had just occurred to him. "Eurydice, I could use your help amending the rest of the flight rosters to accommodate our newest squadron members."

She met his eyes and felt the clutch in her belly, wondered how no one else could see the mischief in him, the latent promise. Through dry lips she responded with a carefully insouciant drawl. "Aye, sir."

  

≽

  

"Hey, Orpheus," she says over the open frequency. "How about we show these kids some grown-up moves?"

"We've been out here for less than an hour, Eurydice. Even you can't be bored yet."

"Are you implying there's something wrong with my attention span, Sir?"

"Not at all, Lieutenant. I'm sure it's perfectly normal... for a four-year-old."

A snicker from one of the rookies. Hyper is her guess; there's a reason the kid earned that callsign, after all.

"With all due respect, Captain, I seem to recall a time or two when you've been more than a little _distracted_ on patrol yourself." Cyrene laces her tone heavily with innuendo for the benefit of their audience.

They might be soldiers but that doesn't mean they can't have a little fun.

With his usual impeccable timing, Ly lets out an ostentatiously beleaguered sigh. "What did you have in mind, Eurydice?"

She grins wildly and guides her Maenad into a quick dip from side to side: a little victory shimmy. On their private freq she hears his laughter before he says, low and intimate, "May I have this dance?"

If they'd married on-planet, their wedding feast would have been outdoors, with food and wine and dancing. Here 'outside' is the black vacuum of space, their food is rationed, and the closest they'll get to wine is whatever throat-burning moonshine the deck crew has concocted this week. But when it comes to dancing, this is the kind they do best.

The first time they'd flown together had been a revelation for Cyrene. Until Ly there'd been no one who could come close to her in the sky. He's a little more controlled, a little less instinctive than she is in the cockpit, but together they're matchless, unstoppable, united by something both ecstatic and profound. Flying with Ly on her wing is the nearest she's ever come to perfection.

For a small infinity, they spiral and twist their Maenads together, performing complex manoeuvres to the whoops and cheers of the rookies. They roll and flip, spinning and weaving around one another with the grace and ease of Arachne herself, close enough, at times, for their birds to touch.

Breathless with happiness, Cyrene tilts her head up to the great velvet blackness all around them, whirling under the stars until the sharp white pinpoints of light are blurred to smears in her vision. She flips her Maenad and hovers above Ly so closely that their canopies almost kiss. Laughing, she looks upside down into the eyes of her husband; they are a blue deeper than the sea, than the summer sky of home, and she falls into them, hardly daring to believe all the love they contain can be for her.

"Race you," she says with a wink, allowing a fraction of a second to appreciate Ly's look of shock before she's whipping away from him, out toward the refuelling moon, laughing as he yells obscenities in her ear.

  

≼

  

He led her through the ship, along rarely used passages, refusing to answer her questions about where in Hades they were going, until finally ushering her through the hatch of an empty storage locker. 

Only it wasn't empty.

Cyrene froze, astonished, as she took in the riot of colours bursting from the dull grey walls. Chains of cut-paper flowers were draped along the storage shelves. A dozen or more candles bathed the room in their muted glow. On the floor lay the mattresses from two bunks pushed together and piled with a rainbow of what looked to be a mix of blankets, hangings, and even a tablecloth.

The effect was almost comically garish, like stepping inside a six-year-old's painting. It was the most wonderful sight she'd ever seen.

Behind her, Ly shut and dogged the hatch, then cleared his throat. "I know it's not much, but..."

He trailed off as she spun around, blinking away the foolish tears that had sprung into her eyes.

"I love it," she told him, winding her arms around his neck. "It's beautiful."

The smile he gave her was even more beautiful.

It faded slowly and something deeper bloomed on his face. "You're my wife," he said, sounding breathless.

Love and wonder robbed her of her voice and all she could manage was a whisper. "You're my husband."

Ly touched her cheek, her hair, his eyes following the paths of his fingers as if memorising them for later journeys. "Dance with me?"

The happiness fizzing in her chest burst out in a quick bubble of laughter like a cork popping from a bottle. "There's no music."

He gave her a delighted look, as if he'd been waiting for her to say just that. Then he began to sing. 

" _Love me, love me, say you do._ " 

It was an old song, from before either of them were born, one Cyrene secretly loved and hadn't known he knew. " _Let me fly away with you._ " Feeling almost like a teenager at her first party, she took his hand and let him lead her into the steps of the traditional wedding dance. It should have been comical, a distant voice said, trying to move in such a confined space, having to step on the 'bed' in their heavy combat boots. " _We are creatures of the wind._ " But their hands clasped and released deftly as they flowed together and apart, their bodies effortlessly describing circles and spirals in the shadowy little room. " _Wild is the wind._ "

His voice was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard, the most beautiful sound that existed, and he was giving this gift to her now, offering himself to her in this song, in this room where he'd scavenged fabric and cut out flowers to make her a meadow, a marriage bed. The force of her love for him in that moment was an agony she never wanted eased. Tears began to spill from her eyes and she stumbled to an awkward halt in the middle of their dance. 

Annoyed at herself, Cyrene wiped her cheeks roughly. "I'm not crying," she said in a voice that betrayed her by wobbling.

Laughing softly, Ly took her face in both his hands and kissed her forehead, her wet cheeks, then her lips: messy, off-centre kisses she tried desperately to return so that sips became gulps they were trading with one another, like water to ease their terrible thirst.

Her heart beat wildly, a trapped bird flinging itself at the bars of its cage as though it wanted to launch itself from her chest into his. She pulled him closer, pressed against him to feel his strength, his heat, and met the stiff ridge of his arousal with a wriggle of her hips.

They scrabbled at each other's clothes, their own, trying to touch and kiss everywhere and only getting in their own ways. Ly almost fell over trying to take his pants off before his boots and she did fall, toppling in helpless giggles to the mattress. Her laughter evaporated under the heat of his stare as he stood above her, looking down with a tense hunger. She pushed herself up with her elbows so that her bare breasts jutted forward and he let out a guttural sound.

"Gods, Cyrene..."

She sat up further, rose to her knees in front of him, and kissed the flat plane of his belly just above his waistband. Then she reached down to undo the laces of his boots. He braced one hand on her shoulder as she eased them from his feet one by one, watching her as though she was the one with all the power, as though he was in her thrall. No one else had ever seen her as Ly did.

Her hands shook and made her fumble at his belt. All of a sudden, she was unaccountably nervous, as though she'd never done this before, not with him, not with anyone. It had been almost a week since they'd found enough time and privacy for more than frantic kisses and a bit of groping, but she knew that wasn't the reason. Everything felt newly discovered, awakened, this first time as husband and wife. They were inviolable now in the eyes of the gods, no matter what the fraternisation regulations might say. This was their votive joining. 

Together they stripped away the last of their clothes. They kissed and writhed against one another with drawn-out, lingering movements. No one would come looking for them and there was no need to hurry. They had hours yet. 

Ly's skin was a pale gold after so much time under an artificial sun, hot against her own. Cyrene ran avid hands all over him, claiming the sharp jut of every elegant bone and the sleek definition of every solid muscle, wild to take all of him and give herself in return. His hands were as fervent as hers, if more languid. They were his weapons, and so was his mouth, as he slid down her body in a purposeful, torturous descent. Passing from her neck to her breasts for a few tantalising seconds then over to the inside of her arm, her elbow. Nipping along her ribs on one side then across to the other, never settling, doing nothing to relieve the aches swelling everywhere inside her.

Out of long habit, she swallowed the sounds that crowded her throat, trying to make as little noise as possible. If someone caught them— If anyone knew—

Ly rose up to stretch over her again, breath hot at her ear. "We don't have to be quiet now. I want to hear you." 

Then he descended to kiss and lick and suckle at her breasts; he squeezed and stroked and pinched with his nimble hands. He crimped one nipple with a delicate bite and she cried out. She was in a delirium of pleasure, weak with it, and shocked by the whimpers and moans returning to her from the echoing metal.

Finally he slid further and further until his dark head rested between her open thighs. She was trembling, her lungs burning and her heart thrumming in her chest. He kissed each thigh, one and then the other, his mouth climbing a rising scale. With the tip of one finger he traced the slick furls of her labia and she felt the spread of her own wetness in the absence of friction. 

"Ly, gods, please..." Cyrene heard herself gasping as she arched into him, unable to keep still. 

His eyes met hers once before he bent his head to bury his face in her cunt. 

He was tender and ardent and merciless with his seeking lips, his questing tongue. He devoured her as though she was the source of ambrosia, nectar of the gods, or the only liquid water in the frozen desert of space. Pleasure rose inside her, opened like a curtain pulled back to let in the moonlight, and it filled her, the moonlight, like quicksilver. His mouth was the bow on her strings, playing, and she made music for him, just as he'd asked, the sweetest music she had to give. It bloomed and ascended, always on the verge of some great, elusive crescendo, until at last she was falling, tumbling, plunging, from a vast, radiant height, drowning in moonlight and a great, white silence. 

She came against his mouth in a shuddering gush, and then again, minutes later, washed ashore on a gentle, golden wave.

Panting and wrecked, Cyrene found she was clutching at Ly's hair and forced her fingers to release him. He lifted his head, looking just as undone as she felt, with his face shiny and slick. When she reached to touch him he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and bore her down with the weight of his body. 

"Let me watch you."

She'd never relinquished control like this to another lover, but everything had been different with Ly from the very beginning. There were at least six ways she could break his hold but instead she allowed herself to revel in her captivity. Her body was strong and tough and could take anything; she'd made sure of it. Yet her muscles were pliant as melted wax, as though they'd forgotten how to work and didn't want to remember, not yet. She struggled luxuriously in his grip while he kissed her, slow and sweet as honey, with a disarming gentleness she still wasn't used to and wasn't sure she'd ever be. 

He pushed into her so slowly and she was so sensitive that somehow the feeling ballooned out through her entire body and she was gasping through a gentle climax before he was fully inside her. It wasn't over when he began to move and the slide of his cock drew out the pleasure until it was almost too much. She was full of him, so much more than just her cunt; he was in her blood, her lungs, her heart that beat and beat. He made her body so unlike the one she knew, a metamorphosis into a finer substance than flesh.

Their kisses grew sloppy, voracious; the rhythm of Ly's hips grew choppy and less constrained. His blue eyes were almost completely black as he looked down at her, stripped of everything but raw need. No one else saw him this way, undone and frantic. Cyrene felt a wild surge of tenderness and smiled up at him. "I love you."

His eyes widened. They were rare words from her, ones she wanted to say much more often than she did. Allowing herself to love him had been hard enough, but saying it aloud where the ever-listening gods might hear was even more difficult. The instinct to protect him, to keep him safe, was woven too tightly into her heart. She'd learned young and learned well that the gods never gave without exacting a price, and the price was often much more than could be paid. 

But it was their wedding day and they'd been blessed. Perhaps this once she didn't have to be afraid.

"I love you," she said again, louder, in elated defiance of her fears. 

The first syllable of her name was all Ly could manage before his hoarse voice broke when she clenched around him. Pleasure and strain warred on his face. He was trying to hold back but it was Cyrene's turn to be without mercy. "Let me watch you," she murmured, holding him fast with her legs wrapped around his hips.

He made a choked sound and lost his rhythm entirely, reduced to jerky, erratic thrusts. She felt his cock swell even further and concentrated on tightening around him steadily. Hot sparks fluttered through her cunt and her belly, not enough to make her come again but still deliciously good. She watched Ly's face, felt his familiar and beloved body, and knew the moment he surrendered. 

Staccato moans tore from his throat as he came, the music of his voice transformed by ecstasy into something elemental. His head dropped heavily to the pillow beside hers and he gasped his love into her hair, lungs heaving, finally releasing her wrists. Cyrene cradled him close in her arms as he shook with the aftershocks of pleasure, indulging herself with her hands on his skin and in his soft, thick hair.

She smiled up at the coloured-paper flowers and the dancing shadows cast by the candle flames, brimming with an overwhelmingly vivid happiness. Next to her ear, Ly let out a jaw-cracking yawn that made her snort in laughter.

"I'm sorry, did I wear you out, Captain?"

He lifted his head and attempted to give her a haughty superior officer look, which might have been effective if he hadn't appeared more like a sleepy little boy in that moment. "I'll have you know, Lieutenant, that I was up late performing duties vitally important to the morale of the air group."

"You did all this last night?"

"Mm hmm."

Ly slipped off of her to lie flush against her side with a sigh, head on her shoulder and one leg slung over hers. Fierce joy coursed through her veins as she held him: her _husband,_ who had stayed up all night just to give her this.

"Thank you," she said and squeezed the heavy arm he had stretched across her.

He nuzzled the side of her breast in response. Cyrene could feel how close he was to sleep in the lax weight of his limbs and the tempo of his breathing. She pressed her lips to the crown of his head and settled back to watch over his rest for as long as she could stay awake herself.

  

≽

  

Manto's radiation blots out the IRIS display for the two minutes Cyrene takes to fly a tight, close arc around to its dark side. Gleeful, she kills her Maenad's engines just beyond the weak gravity of the pockmarked little moon and switches off her cockpit light so that the glow of the instrument panel is her only illumination.

"I win," she crows on the open freq.

"You cheated" is Ly's wry response.

"Not my fault your reaction time is subpar, Orpheus."

He huffs a laugh. "Never had any complaints before." On their private freq he says, "I'll show you subpar, wife."

"You'll have to find me first, husband."

The conjunction of her Maenad and the moon blocks her from his IRIS and him from hers. They'll both still show up on Ganymede's display but for now they're invisible to each other. It's an advanced version of hide and seek they're playing. Just on a slightly larger scale than someone's backyard, Cyrene thinks with a grin.

Lights appear on her console from out of the nowhere of space and her grin disappears. In the blink of an eye she's a soldier again.

"Orpheus, I have twelve enemy contacts. Repeat, twelve Vipers incoming."

"Copy that, Eurydice. I've got them now." He sounds calm, in control, and she switches to the open freq in time to hear, "Ganymede, this is Orpheus. We have incoming." 

"IRIS contacts confirmed, Orpheus. Battle wing is launching. ETA two minutes."

"Roger that, Ganymede. Eurydice, hold your position. We'll meet you there."

"Copy that."

"Hyper, Lips, Skydive, this is what you've trained for. Remember, stay with your wingman and no heroics. We get in, get out, and get everybody home."

Three voices respond in chorus. "Roger that, Orpheus."

Cyrene stares out into the blackness but there's no visual on the enemy birds yet, just the little dots on IRIS. Through her earpiece, she hears the telltale crackle of her private freq. "Please tell me you're in blackout."

"I'm sorry, but which of us has more combat experience, Captain?" 

"Cyrene..."

She squeezes her eyes shut because she can't bear the tenderness in his voice or its undercurrent of fear. In the middle of war, what had made them think they'd be allowed something so foolish and mortal as love?

"Ly, just hurry up and get your ass out here so we can blow some snakes out of the sky."

"Thirty seconds."

Before the sound of his voice fades, she sees them. Snub-nosed, the Vipers seem to slither through the blackness toward her, their cockpits shining like beady eyes. Cyrene fires up her engines and switches back to the open freq. "Ganymede, Eurydice. I have visual contact. Twelve Vipers confirmed. Request permission to engage."

"Permission granted, Eurydice. All Maenads, weapons free. Repeat, weapons free."

In combat everything is _now,_ the pinprick of each moment blown wide into a universe of its own. Cyrene breaks free of Manto's shelter and flies straight at the enemy, firing her opening salvo. The bold attack catches the Aristaeans off-guard and she takes out three of the Vipers herself before the rest of the patrol joins the fight. Then the blackness of space is lit up by ravaging flashes of light. In the eternal span of _now_ she is Artemis, the huntress, Enyo, goddess of war, and Nike, whose name means victory.

Then she's nothing.

A stray piece of debris clips her port thruster and throws her infinitesimally off course. Just a fraction of a degree, but it's enough for the Viper on her six to strafe her starboard engine when it should have missed. A lucky shot bites into her fuel tank and the infinite _now_ contracts to utterly finite seconds.

_One,_ hit the emergency harness release. 

_Two,_ brace for hard eject. 

_Three,_ soar.

  

≼

  

Cyrene opened her eyes, surprised to find dull grey instead of deep blue. She'd been dreaming... something. Frowning, she tried to summon the memory but it had already dissolved, leaving only the idea of sky. 

Ly was spooned up behind her, nuzzling the back of her neck. She gave over her dream easily in favour of turning to face him.

"Hi."

"Hi," he said, his face wreathed with a smile so happy she just had to kiss him.

"How much time have we got left?"

"About an hour."

Cyrene sighed and stretched languorously against him, feeling the hot, stiff ridge of his cock pressing into her belly. "Whatever can we do to pass the time?"

Ly affected a puppy-dog expression and began to croon. " _Give me more than one caress. Satisfy this hungriness._ "

It was so goofy and endearing she dissolved into giggles. The gods only knew that Eurydice didn't giggle but here she was, twice in one day, all because of him. To recoup some of her lost dignity, she poked him in the side, just under his ribs. The one weakness of the great Orpheus that very few people knew: he was ticklish.

He squirmed away for a moment and then began to retaliate until they were a flurry of wriggling fingers and the whole thing devolved into laughter-soaked wrestling. They'd done their share of sparring together and were fairly evenly matched, despite the sheer bulk of his muscle being superior to hers. Cyrene had learned to fight dirty at an early age but this was almost too easy. Reaching down between them, she gave his cock a teasing stroke and he stilled with a strangled sound. Despite being outweighed, she rolled him under her easily and straddled his hips.

"I win," she said smugly.

He looked up at her with laughing eyes. "Are you sure? I really don't feel like the loser in this position."

Shaking her head dismissively, she turned her attention to his body spread out beneath her. He was, quite simply, glorious: chiseled as an ancient marble statue in a museum, yet warm and blazingly alive. There weren't too many aboard Ganymede (or anywhere else, for that matter) who wouldn't happily trade places with her right now just for the view, she thought. In the close quarters of a battleship the line between appreciating and ogling was rigidly defined and adhered to, but Cyrene had still known his body well before they'd ever touched this way. There were times, in fact, when their sparring had turned darker, when they'd raged against each other, violating one another's flesh with their frustrations because it was safer than using words.

Now, though, she touched him with a reverence undimmed by familiarity. He was warm and firm under her hands wherever they roved. Like a blind topographer, she surveyed the landscape of his body with her fingertips, memorising every impression and texture for her own private map.

Ly let out soft sighs when she stroked over particularly sensitive spots, squirmed beneath her when she teased his stiff little nipples. The flick of her tongue drew out a moan that was almost musical. She kissed him everywhere she could reach, dampening his skin with sucking kisses and sharp little nips, licking up the tang of his sweat. He panted and gasped, shifting restlessly against her, while his clever hands raced across her back and hips, as though unsure quite where to hold on.

Sitting up, she took those hands and kissed them: palms, knuckles, fingertips. She pressed them against hers palm to palm, marvelling at their matching callouses, their different scars. So alike yet so unique.

Despite the desire racing through her, there was a serenity, a peacefulness that balanced it, and she looked down at him with a soft smile. One hand released his to settle on his cheek.

"You're so beautiful, Ly."

His eyes looked back at her with undisguised adoration. "You are."

She wasn't, she knew, but he believed it and somehow his belief made it true. 

Gently, he withdrew his other hand from hers, then reached up to cup her face. He traced her cheeks and temples, over her jaw and around her ears. His fingertips trailed down her throat and over her clavicles; he cradled the balls of her shoulders then swept his palms down her arms until he could link his fingers with hers.

It felt like being blessed.

He drew her down by their joined hands and they kissed slowly and fervently. His mouth was wet and tempting, his lips soft. His probing, seeking tongue sent hot shards of want throbbing through her blood. He was like a drug; with every fix she needed him more.

Their lower bodies ground together in their own heated conversation until she couldn't stand it any longer and pushed herself upright. His face was flushed, his lips swollen, his pupils blown wide, the very picture of sensual decadence. Dionysius himself.

She rose up onto her knees, swiped one hand between her legs to slick her fingers, and then reached down to wrap around Ly's straining length. He groaned from deep in his chest, hips rising up, but he was otherwise motionless, eyes fixed on her face. Hovering above him, she let herself sink just enough to slide the blunt head of his cock between her folds.

"Gods," he moaned raggedly.

His arms came around her, holding her to him, and his hands, his clever hands, were clumsy where they pressed into her skin. He cupped her breasts, caught her nipples between each thumb and forefinger to gently tug in time with her stroking hand. She rolled her hips into his so that his silky cock was nudging against her clit with slick, delicious friction. Her head fell forward, pleasure like sparks lighting her up. A breathless moan escaped her and drew an answering one from Ly.

"Yes," he hissed as he began to thrust into her grip.

Cyrene rocked with him, pinned by his eyes, unable to close her own. Her breath was in tatters, her climax so close she could taste it in the back of her throat. "Ly, _oh_..."

"That's it, that's it. Come for me."

She bent forward, bracing herself, and changed the angle until they were grinding against one another, her hand on his cock no longer stroking, just holding it steady while she rubbed her clit against him. It felt so impossibly good, everything, all of it. She was dizzy, shaking, on fire. Sounds like sobs spilled out of her as the pleasure rose and rose but she couldn't stop them, couldn't stop her urgent writhing, spurred on by Ly's burning gaze.

Orgasm swamped her in a long, rolling wave. Ly bucked against her as she pulsed and quaked, chanting his pleasure and praise.

He was still rocking against her when the tremors eased, as though he couldn't help himself, his fingers digging furrows in her thighs. A little hazy, she leaned down to capture his lips and he opened for her, kissing her avidly, curling himself up to meet her. The heat of his mouth and the insistent rhythm of his hips drove the burning drum of her pulse; her cunt still throbbed like a second heartbeat, a constant liquid yearning. Filthy wet sounds rose between them with every slide of his cock.

"Please," he gasped, between sloppy kisses. "Need you, gods, Cyrene, please..."

Dizzy with lust, she wanted nothing more than to ride him hard until they were both blind and deaf, glutted with pleasure. Yet she wanted to go slow just as much, to draw this out and make it last. Who knew when they'd have a chance like this again?

With rare patience she tortured them both, sinking slowly, taking him into her by degrees, feeling her cunt squeezing around him, eager to get him deeper. He lay still beneath her, her docile captive but for the way his jaw clenched hard and his hands curled into fists by his side. Those eyes that had stayed so focused on her fluttered closed as their hips finally met, his mouth open and gasping. She uncurled his fists with gentle fingers and pulled his hands to her aching breasts. 

He stroked and squeezed, tormented her nipples, and she kept a deliberate, even pace. The air was laden with gasps and moans, the slick sounds of hot flesh. He ran his hands over her back and thighs, her ass, then slipped practiced fingers between them to stroke against her clit with the same rhythm as she rode his cock. Lightning flashed outward from that single point, catalytic. Her breaths turned sobbing; her thighs shook. 

Whole galaxies spun endless revolutions behind her eyes as she came, keening. His hips kept rocking into her while she slumped weakly against him, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe, her cunt still clutching him in spasms and making her shudder. His grip moved to her hips and he began to thrust more roughly, with more force, lifting her off his cock and pulling her down hard again.

Limp as a rag doll she opened her eyes to find his glassy with need. The bunched muscles of his arms flexed; the tendons in his neck stood out starkly from the strain. She couldn't seem to coordinate her muscles at all so she let her head fall to his shoulder. He sat up slightly, braced on one arm, and the angle sharpened, the pressure increased.

Delirious with sensation, she heard herself saying mindless, gasping things. "Love you, love— _oh gods_ —your cock in me. Feels so good, so—" Her moan was nearly inaudible over their breathing and the slap of flesh meeting flesh.

Ly groaned and the vibration passed from his chest into hers. Her useless hands scrabbled at his slick skin, rivulets of sweat running between them where they pressed together. She was so hot, so blissfully overtaken, liquified and ready to float away as steam. "So good, so good," she panted. "Come for me."

His neck and back arched, he thrust brutally, and a third orgasm washed through her with a shocked whimper. Within seconds she felt his own climax erupt and a harsh cry was ripped from his throat. 

They collapsed together, boneless and nearly insensate, struggling to breathe.

"Love you," he mumbled hoarsely against her neck. Her husband. Cyrene sucked at his salty skin and felt his thunderous pulse under her tongue beating _alive, alive, alive._

If this was all of Elysium she ever knew, it would be enough.

  

≽

  

"How much O2 have you got left?" Ly asks, voice scratchy. Not that long ago he was screaming.

Cyrene squints at the gauge display, trying to focus. Streaks of light flash behind her eyelids whenever she blinks. "Two."

"Two minutes," he confirms.

"Mmm." 

Silence then; Ly must be communicating with SAR. She drifts some more, letting her thoughts float as untethered as her body. Her O2 is messed up, leaking uselessly into space, and the mix of what's left is all wrong. She's disoriented and nauseous and her head hurts from the good crack her helmet took against the canopy as she ejected. Her emergency beacon is malfunctioning; her comm unit won't switch to the open freq; and her helmet light's gone out. 

Still, it's not so bad, really. Though not quite as memorable as exploding in a fiery ball, this is a better way to die than most, and Cyrene is selfishly glad that it's her, not Ly. If Atropos cuts her thread here and now, so be it. Whatever burdens she bears in the afterlife, at least his death won't be among them.

_Aphrodite Urania, thank you._

"Eurydice, you still with me?"

"Ly..."

"Hold on, I've picked up your comm signal. I'm almost at your coordinates and SAR's not far behind. Just a couple more minutes."

"'m sorry..."

"No, don't talk. Save your air. You can tell me later." His words are rushed, his tongue tripping over them, and she feels her heart squeeze in sorrow for his pain.

"Love you... so much. Always..." 

"Stop talking. Just hold on for me. I'm almost there."

"...scared gods'd take... you 'cause..." 

" _Hades,_ Cyrene, for once in your life just shut up!"

The anguish in his voice cuts her off.

A heavy silence falls. At last she hears him say, "Cyrene? Do you copy?"

Something's pressing on her chest, something cold.

"Eurydice, acknowledge!"

Panicked.

"Told me... stop... talking."

"Oh, now you obey my orders." 

A watery laugh, relief. 

"Sleep."

"No, you can't sleep yet. You've got to stay awake."

She's so tired.

"Do you hear me, Cyrene?"

So tired.

"I need you to stay with me. _Please._ "

His broken, beautiful voice. A meadow. A few hours and a lifetime's worth of joy.

"Sing me... a song, Ly."

"What?"

"...song."

She hears him take a trembling breath in and let it out. She waits. She'll always wait for him.

" _You touch me—_ " his voice wobbles and cracks " _—I hear the sound of mandolins._ " He fills her ears, fills all the dark, cold space that surrounds her. " _You kiss me..._ " She lies cradled in his warmth. " _...with your kiss my life begins._ "

Her lips feel numb but they're smiling. 

" _Like a leaf clings to a tree, baby, please cling to me._ "

He is singing her back into the light.

" _Love me, love me, say you do._ "

He is singing her back. 

" _Let me fly away with you._ "

He is singing.

  

**Author's Note:**

> Almost everything I know about Greek mythology I learned from Wikipedia, and my grasp on the science contained herein is highly suspect, so please forgive any errors and/or impossibilities. Cyrene's hymn to Hymen is adapted from 'The Trojan Women' by Euripides. Ly sings 'Wild is the Wind' as covered by Cat Power ([Youtube Link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcimhtW-4Hw)), which is a particularly haunting version that I thought fit well.


End file.
